


Forget You Not

by loveinslowmotion



Category: One Direction (Band), Taylor Swift (Musician)
Genre: F/M, Fluff and Angst, Haylor, Met Gala, One Shot
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-05-29
Updated: 2019-05-29
Packaged: 2020-03-26 19:57:14
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,111
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19012804
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/loveinslowmotion/pseuds/loveinslowmotion
Summary: Harry's first ever Met Gala isn't quite the fairy tale the girl in the pastel dress made him think it could be.





	Forget You Not

**Author's Note:**

> So we missed out on Taylor going to the Met Gala this year but here's a little something to (sort of) make up for it. Thank you so much to everyone who messaged me about this idea (and gave me motivation to keep writing!), especially [this anon](https://alltootay.tumblr.com/post/184572355550/a-concept-for-harry-meeting-benjamin-button-i) who came up with how we could have the Met _and_ Harry ft. cats. I hope you enjoy it, loves! x

 

He wasn’t expecting her to come.

Maybe there was a teeny tiny irrelevant part of him that was hoping she would, so that he would have an excuse to see her again, however brief. But he wasn’t _actually_ expecting Taylor to attend the Met Gala again this year.

Harry hadn’t actually known she was there until after the red carpet – for the best, considering neither of them particularly needed photographs that led to the kind of stories that wormed their way between them, pushing them further apart.

He had graced his first ever Met red carpet with nerves. It had been a while since he had done anything like this, and he knew it didn’t _really_ matter what anyone else thought so long as he was happy and comfortable, but as a co-host for the year, well, he did want to make a good first impression. In his all black ensemble, sheer and ruffled and quietly camp, Harry felt like maybe he’d actually done that.

In a sea of colour, elaborate gowns that were inevitably hit and miss with the theme, Harry could barely decide where to look. Everywhere, there was some strange new spectacle, someone new to talk to. He floated between guests, never short of company. If he was honest, it was a tad overwhelming.

An intimately familiar face would’ve been a comfort – had it not been one that had been quite so intimate.

It had been Kendall first, which hadn’t been so bad. They didn’t keep up much anymore, their fling having long passed, but they were friendly; it wasn’t awkward like it might’ve been with someone else. He thought the figure hugging orange outfit suited her, and she asked why he was sticking with the short hair, and they had a chat and a bit of a laugh like it didn’t matter about what anyone might think. It was good, easy.

But with Taylor…

He literally nearly fell on his face.

What with having attended many an award show over the years, he really should’ve known to be more vigilant about where he was walking. Especially at an event like this, where fashion was the focus and it was all about extravagance. There were people with wings, he had seen a disembodied head being passed around, and of course, there were dresses with ridiculously long trains.

Wandering through the exhibition, one hadn’t quite yet made it around a corner, and Harry… _may_ have stepped on a little bit of lilac chiffon and went slipping forward.

At least he managed to catch himself, without stepping on any more of the poor woman’s dress. The smack of his boot hitting the ground nearly jarred his knee, as well as caught her attention.

“Shit, I’m _so_ sorry,” he immediately apologised, looking up to find that the train belonged to Taylor, which had his cheeks traitorously flushing like this was some bloody high school crush.

Which he guessed it was, really. But that was hardly the point.

“Are you okay?” was naturally what she first asked, while she gathered up her lengthy pastel gown. “This thing is so damn long, I don’t know what I was thinking.”

“I’m alright,” he assured her, unnecessarily brushing his hands on the sides of his high waisted pants. When she turned to properly face him, train of her dress safely gathered up by her shiny heels, Harry swallowed hard. Bloody hell.

Following her new trend of candy pastels, Taylor’s ombre dress flowed seamlessly from soft pinks to purple. It was a high-low cut, the front finishing around her thighs before ruffling way down behind her. The strapless bodice was more fitted, decorated with a layer of lace that extended up into a high collar around her throat and down to her wrists in delicate sleeves. With an oversized flower pinned to her chest, a few smaller ones tucked into her blonde bun, he thought she looked like something out of a fairy tale.

Once they had both had a moment to take each other in, they both went to speak simultaneously. “You look–” they both started and abruptly stopped, laughing in surprise.

“You go,” Taylor smiled.

“You look lovely,” Harry complimented. He was sure she would have heard something of the like plenty of times tonight so far, and maybe it wouldn’t make a difference if he said anything or not, but maybe it would.

The way it made her gaze briefly drop down, her smile soft and sweet, maybe it really had.

“Thank you.” Her eyes met his again, and she tilted her head subtly. “You look very handsome. I love the shirt.”

“Thank you.”

Oh god, it was uneasy. It had been too long since they’d last seen each other.

“Heard your new song,” he told her, the first stupid thing to pop into his head. As if he, living in civilisation with an internet connection, possibly could’ve _not_ heard it. “It’s really catchy.”

And damn true, too. No matter who he turned to, he never had been able to find another like Taylor.

He hadn’t needed such an openly obvious reminder of that. Especially not one that kept getting stuck in his damn head.

“Thanks,” Taylor smiled, sounding bubblier, “It was a lot of fun, that one. Have you seen the video?”

He nodded, “’S very… colourful. Your dress matches.”

“Yeah.” As she swished the ruffles around her thighs, she giggled a little girlishly, the sound resonating somewhere deep inside him.

“Who are you here with?” Harry had to ask. If she was with who he guessed she was, he would walk away right now. It’d be easier on the both of them.

“Gigi – but I’ve kind of lost her. You haven’t seen her, have you? I think she was catching up with Taylor – you know Taylor? Not me, obviously, model Taylor, with–”

“I know her,” he, thankfully, cut off her sudden rambling. “Haven’t seen her, though.”

When she didn’t say anything for a moment, Harry scrambled to keep the conversation going now that he knew she was here with a _friend_. “I was just looking around, if you want some company.”

Her brief hesitation made him wish he hadn’t asked.

“‘Til you find her,” he added hastily, which must’ve helped, since she nodded.

“Okay.”

It was kind of weird, though. Neither wanted it to be, but it had been a long time since they had openly acknowledged each other. Longer than they had wanted, but it was safer that way.

Plus, Harry was afraid of stepping on her dress again. He really didn’t want to wreck anyone’s outfit at the Met Gala, least of all Taylor’s.

So as they began wandering the exhibition together, Harry kept as cautiously close to her as he figured he could get away with. Taylor never tried to further the distance between them, which had to be a good sign, at least.

Their small talk was limited as they perused a few of the costumes on display – and ended much too abruptly when they bumped into one of Taylor’s friends, Lily.

It didn’t surprise him when she opted to take advantage of the opportunity to escape. It sucked a bit, but what could he do? At least she softened the blow.

“We should catch up, if you’re gonna stick around New York for a bit,” Taylor kindly suggested, her eyes lighting up when she added, “You could meet Benjamin! He’s the sweetest little thing, you’d love him.”

It was a nice thought, but she still walked away from him. She always did.

They only caught each other in glimpses after that. They weren’t seated near each other during dinner, and they managed to forget about each other for a while. Harry stuck with Alessandro, who helped him feel more comfortable in an event he had never been to before, surrounded by glamorous people he had never been fully convinced he belonged with.

And it was actually pretty fun. With the social media ban, the concern over having something embarrassing and/or scandalous documented was faded. What happened in the Met, (mostly) stayed in the Met. It was essentially one exclusive, expensive, extravagant party.

One where Harry maybe got a little pissed. Maybe.

As the festivities went on, Harry rather enjoyed himself. He had a few drinks, changed up his outfit, and mingled here and there. At one point, he actually did find Gigi, again sans Taylor, and maybe if he was sober it would’ve made more sense when she said, “Seen Taylor?” and winked at him on her way past. At least he thought she winked. It was dark and he was buzzed and her make-up was a bit trippy.

He spotted Taylor dancing later on with the few of her friends who had opted to attend this year. Swaying her hips, looking like a pastel dream when she risked twirling around on the spot, swishing her ruffled train and managing not to tangle herself in the lovely material, Harry longed to be able to join her. He wanted to be able to dance with her again, like they had when they were eighteen and twenty-three, when things were fun and not so complicated. Even after all this time, he still remembered how she smiled when he spun her around in his living room, her head tilted back and her straightened hair flowing. Sometimes he wished he could go back to before he had let her down.

When he saw her holding hands with Karlie, he wondered if she was planning on going to an after party. Probably not to the same as he was. Maybe he should invite her along. That would be nice of him, right?

But she always seemed to be with someone else whenever he caught sight of her, and he didn’t really want an audience in case she turned him down. Which she probably would. When was the last time she had said yes to him, after all?

The one time their eyes met across the room and Taylor smiled at him, he very nearly changed his mind. He hadn’t been on the receiving end of that smile in a long time, too damn long, and god, she was beautiful. So wholeheartedly beautiful.

His last chance was late in the night, where she swept past him in a crowd, close enough to compliment, “Cute bow,” unironically about his outfit number two. “We’re matchy,” she giggled as she gestured at the flower pinned on her chest, oversized like his red bow tie. A few drinks had passed her lips throughout the evening, evidently.

If he’d known it was his last, he would’ve done more than grin his thanks at her. “Wouldn’t want it with anyone else,” he charmingly replied, since a few drinks really had passed his.

But he ended up at an after party without her, and Harry regretted it. He regretted more than he would’ve liked to with Taylor. Usually, he didn’t think about it anymore, but then she would reappear in his life for the briefest of moments and stick herself back in his head.

Like the bit of chewing gum carelessly discarded on a footpath that you don’t notice until it’s too late, wedging itself in the grooves of your shoe to remain long after the rest scrapes off, some people were hard to unstick.

Especially when a small, insignificant part of you wanted them to stay.

Harry swallowed the unwanted debate going on his head with another drink. What was the point in overthinking the past when he was at an after party for the fucking Met Gala, with Alessandro Michele, of all people?

So he drank and he danced and he sang and probably looked like a right nutter, but what did it matter? He was having fun.

Maybe a little too much. By the end of it, he was rather pissed, having forgotten what exactly he’d said to whom and wondering what he was still doing there. Life was too short not to say what he wanted to, and he clearly remembered who he _hadn’t_ talked to.

It would’ve been courteous to send a text first, at least, and he would’ve if he wasn’t drunk and being spontaneous. And she did like spontaneous.

Harry gave his driver her address (of course he hadn’t forgotten) and spent the entire ride over trying to come up with a smooth introduction. Something charming, sexy, but not _too_ sexy, or maybe he could go with funny. She did think he was funny, and he loved making her laugh. God, did he love making her laugh.

It was approaching one in the morning when Harry snuck in the back door of the apartment block, still having enough sense to not stroll through the front way where he was sure to be seen. Belatedly, it occurred to him that maybe she wouldn’t even be home yet, or she would be staying with one of her friends, or her friends would be staying with her, but he hadn’t come all this way to not even try. What was the worst that could happen?

Well, she could not answer the door, for one, which after he knocked and it seemed to take _an eternity_ for anything to happen, Harry began to think he was wasting his time. Obviously she wasn’t here, he should come back another time–

When the door cracked open and Taylor peeked out at him with a perplexed expression, Harry instantly flashed an oblivious grin.

It took a moment of looking him up and down before she eventually stated, “You’re not my pizza.”

Glancing down at himself to check that he was in fact not her pizza, he shrugged, carefree. “’M not.”

“What are you _doing_ here?” Taylor questioned in a hushed tone, as if she had someone inside with her. Oh god, who was she with?

“Wanted to say hi,” he said cheerfully, like they showed up at each other’s doors all the time.

“Do you have any idea what the time is?” Quickly, she realised that he really didn’t, what with his rosy cheeks and his audacity to turn up unannounced. “You’re drunk, aren’t you?”

“No,” he grinned cheekily, dimples on full show, looking like a child trying to get away with something silly he’d done.

“You’re a terrible liar.” Taylor sighed quietly, opening the door wider with reluctant acceptance. “C’mon. Get in here.”

Unfortunately, she had changed out of her pastel gown, which kind of ruined the whole fantasy he had concocted on the way over. So he wouldn’t get to feel the soft material graze against his skin, but he could get into the cat pyjamas she had slipped into for the night. They were very Taylor, and he’d missed Taylor. He’d missed her as a friend and he’d missed her as more than a friend.

Not that the latter would matter to her anymore.

Well, maybe it would. Fantasy Dolled Up Taylor was all in favour of it.

Real Life Cat Pyjamas Taylor looked more like she would’ve preferred to spend the rest of the night by herself, rather than have anyone (aside from her pizza delivery person), especially an ex, come knocking at her door. But she was too polite to send him away, so here they were.

Leading him into the kitchen, Taylor began fixing him a cup of strong coffee. “So you’ve had a good night?” she asked as a distraction, so he wouldn’t immediately cotton on to her intention of sobering him up.

“Fucking great. Should’ve been to one of these earlier,” Harry had realised at some point in the night. Leaning against the bench a bit further down, he was watching her openly, his gaze following the movement of her hands as she tried to keep busy, so she wouldn’t panic as to what the hell he was doing here. “Did you?”

“Yeah.” She almost left it at that, but it felt rude to be short with him when he was now technically her guest. “It feels good to be open again. I don’t want to have to feel like I have to hide away forever, y’know?”

“You looked incredible tonight. Like a… a fairy princess,” he described, which made her giggle.

“I kinda did feel like a princess,” she admitted. “All I needed was a tiara.”

Her hair fell down in waves now, released from its bun and flowing over her shoulders. In the comfort of her own home, she’d wiped off her make up, and yet it didn’t matter. She would always be awe inspiring, cat pyjamas and all.

“And wings, obviously. You can’t be a fairy without wings,” Taylor remembered to add, startled when Harry suddenly gave a delighted little gasp.

It made sense, though, when she looked down to find the newest addition to her family padding his way in. Fluffy and curious, little Benjamin walked right on past her to go meow up at his new friend.

“Hello,” Harry cooed as he kneeled down to hold his hand out to the young cat, who briefly sniffed before rubbing his face affectionately against Harry’s knuckles. “Oh, he’s friendly!”

“He’s literally the friendliest cat ever. Is he purring yet?”

As he scratched behind Benjamin’s eager head, he was pretty sure that, yes, he already heard purring. “He is!”

Smiling at Harry’s drunken enthusiasm, Taylor began encouraging him out of the kitchen, his cup of coffee in her hand. “Pick him up, he loves being carried. He’s a funny little guy – aren’t you Benji? C’mon, he’ll wanna come sit with you.”

She got them settled in the living room, setting his cup on the table while Harry marvelled over the cat who enjoyed being held in his arms like a baby, purring away.

“He’s beautiful.”

“He’s like that with everyone.”

“Way to make a guy feel special.”

She rolled her eyes, “You don’t need me or a cat to tell you you’re special.”

Before she could dwell on what she’d said, there was another knock on the door, which damn well better be her food delivery and not another unexpected guest. Having to explain to anyone else she knew why Harry was here in her apartment when she didn’t understand herself would be a nightmare.

The downside to having ordered food now, of course, was that she was going to feel obliged to share. Although, it would probably do him some good, along with the coffee; Taylor had been home for a while and had already had a cup, the pizza an impulse decision to help relieve the drinks she’d had before she eventually turned in for the night. Now, she was glad she hadn’t let loose any more than she had.

Harry was still cuddling Benjamin when she returned, and she wished he didn’t look so soft doing it. Harry was Boyfriend Soft, but not for _her_.

“How many cats d’you have to have to be called crazy?” Harry wondered, as she sat further down the couch, keeping a safe distance between them.

“Are you calling me crazy?” Taylor challenged, grabbing a steaming slice of supreme out of the box.

“You said it, not me.”

Benjamin gave a small mew of protest when Harry stopped stroking him to grab a pizza slice she gestured for him to take, the both of them glancing down at the kitten in amusement.

“He’s such a baby,” Taylor commented affectionately, wondering where her other cats had gotten to. They were still getting used to the new addition, and it wasn’t always smooth sailing between the three of them. Both Meredith and Olivia did seem to like Harry, though, (who didn’t?) and were missing out on the attention they (possibly) would’ve appreciated. “Did you really come all this way just to play with my cat and eat my pizza?”

“Pretty much,” Harry deadpanned through a mouthful. “He’s very soft. How’d they get so soft?”

“It’s one of life’s great mysteries,” she said sagely. As was what on earth their relationship was anymore.

And yet, as it always seemed to, conversation slowly began to flow naturally between them. Harry rambled on about his night and what he’d been up to lately – and what he was _going_ to be up to in the not so distant future, a privilege not divulged to many people at all. Wrapping up work on his second solo album, he was excited and terrified of the reaction he was going to receive, a feeling Taylor was very familiar with, especially now.

“I just want people to like it, y’know? _I_ like it, but who knows what anyone else is going to think,” she confided, now that she had relaxed to his presence here again. “It could be shit.”

“I don’t think it’s shit,” he reassured her, having gotten himself comfortable leaning back at the end of the couch, sipping at his coffee after (to her relief) only two slices of pizza. Benjamin was sleeping sprawled across his chest, evidently having taken a particular liking to him – and his giant bow tie, which he’d had to take off so it wouldn’t get destroyed by playful young claws. “Some of mine have been shit. Really shit.”

“Even if you released something shit, people would still like it ‘cause you’re hot,” Taylor said openly, in part because it was true, but mostly to make him flash that dimpled grin again. She was rewarded with a laugh, too.

“Could say the same about you.”

“No you couldn’t.”

“Yeah I could. I _just_ did.”

“You don’t mean it.”

“Course I do. Even in your little cat PJ’s.”

“Don’t make fun of the kitties,” Taylor playfully warned, pointing a glittery nail at him. “Making fun of the kitties is a bad idea.”

Naturally, that only piqued his curiosity. “What if I do?”

While the kitten trustingly asleep on his chest wasn’t a very good example, she threatened, “I’ve got three cats on my side to do my bidding.”

“You _are_ a crazy cat lady!” Harry exclaimed. “ _Knew_ it.”

Nudging his leg with her foot, Taylor wrinkled her nose, trying not to giggle. It didn’t last, though, her tone teasing as she accused, “You’re so mean to me. Get him, Benji!”

Traitorously, Benjamin stayed contentedly resting, seeing nothing wrong in his warm new friend. Perhaps she would’ve had more luck with one of the ladies, but then again, they were _cats:_ they marched to the beat of their own drums.

“He’s doing _my_ bidding now,” Harry said dramatically, giving him a gentle pat, and she offered him a doubtful look.

“He’s literally asleep.”

“He’s gonna get you when _you’re_ asleep.”

Taylor pouted, shuffling closer to give Benjamin an affectionate scratch herself. “My baby would never.”

Maybe he was just imagining it, but Harry’s senses felt heightened when she moved towards him. She was easily within his reach now; he longed to tuck the lock of hair that fell forward as she tilted her head back behind her ear, though the gesture felt too intimate, and he didn’t want to scare her off.

He did, however, take her hand, which came as a surprise to her as he began to inspect her short painted nails. “Your nail polish’s very pretty. Very sparkly.”

“Thank you,” Taylor said, quieter. His hand was warm and gentle yet solid and she couldn’t decide whether or not she wanted him to let go. “I like yours, too.”

“I like doing it. ’S fun.”

She nodded a little, teasing, “Got enough rings on?”

With nearly every finger adorned, he could do some damage, if he were that kind of person. On someone else, it might’ve been a little much, but it suited Harry. He had really grown into himself over the last few years, something Taylor admired. While she didn’t get to see it up close much anymore, she was still happy for him; he deserved to be comfortable with who he was.

“The initials are cute,” she added, as she tilted their joined hands so she could get a better look at his jewellery.

“D’you like the earring?” Harry asked, drawing her gaze back up at him, her hand still remaining with his. “Did it myself.”

“Wait, what?” Taylor giggled at his proud tone. “That’s not a clip on?”

“Nope. It’s a proper one.”

“And you pierced it _yourself?_ You’re insane!”

Harry simply shrugged, feeling a flash of disappointment when she released his hand, though it diminished when she touched him again – even if that touch was a playful tap against his thigh. It felt like how things used to be.

“I really loved your other shirt, y’know? It looked cool, showing off your tattoos,” Taylor went on, rather than dwell on the thought of him literally poking a needle _through his own ear._

“Thanks. It felt nice.”

“It _looked_ nice.”

“Not as nice as you.”

Taylor rolled her eyes – but she was still smiling. Smiling like she appreciated it. Smiling as if maybe she wouldn’t mind if he kept telling her kind things.

“No one looked nicer than you did.”

“Now that is a lie,” Taylor laughed. She could list off plenty of people she believed had, but it wouldn’t change what Harry was sure was true.

“You looked fucking amazing, Tay. You always do,” he told her simply, like nothing had changed. It had for her, though, and even while she softened at the compliment, she was sure there was more behind it, and she couldn’t go there again.

“Harry…” she sighed, hoping he would stop there. Not _all_ of her was hoping that, though. A small part of her was still stupidly, stubbornly enjoying it, enjoying _him_.

“I mean it.”

“I know, but… What are you doing here, Harry? I know I said we should hang out, but I didn’t mean _right now_.”

The answer seemed so obvious, he couldn’t believe he really had to explain it.

“I miss you. Seeing you again tonight… I didn’t wanna wait.”

And he never would’ve had the guts to say it if he hadn’t been drinking all night. And while he had begun to calm down with some food and strong coffee, he still felt loose and like he could do anything.

“You looked beautiful and I had to tell you.”

“You didn’t _have_ to…” she murmured, but he went on as if she hadn’t.

“Seeing you again just made me think… I miss you. I miss us.”

“ _What_ us? We haven’t been us in _years_ ,” Taylor reminded him, pulling away from him a bit more. Why had she moved close to him in the first place? Sometimes it was just too easy to be around him.

When Harry sat up a bit more, he unintentionally disturbed Benjamin, who roused and jumped off him, leaving stray strands of white fur behind on his clothes. Really, he should’ve taken it as a sign. “Don’t you ever think about it? About what could’ve happened?”

“I’m in a relationship, Harry. A good one.”

“Not a _great_ one?”

“You know that’s not what I meant. Please don’t go twisting my words; we’re not like that.”

“You haven’t answered my question,” he pointed out, which had her glancing away uncomfortably. That in itself said more than she meant to give away.

“We can’t change the past,” she said as she watched Benjamin wander away, wishing he had curled onto her lap instead; she could use the familiar comfort.

“We can change the future,” he persisted, like he was really in with a chance. Like he wasn’t well aware she was in a long term relationship and life wasn’t a god damn fairy tale, she wasn’t about to drop everything to be with him just because he showed up at her apartment drunk and called her beautiful. “Have you never even thought about it?”

“ _Yes!_ Of course I have,” Taylor relented, refusing to look at him in case anything long buried decided to suddenly resurface. “But things aren’t the same anymore. You know that.”

He did. That was kind of the point.

“It’s getting really late, Harry. We should get some sleep,” she decided as an excuse to end the conversation she didn’t want to have, not anymore. Standing up, she crossed her arms protectively over her chest. “I’ll sort a room for you, it’s too late for you to be heading out now.”

They both knew he had stumbled home in later hours, but he didn’t protest the kind offer she wasn’t required to make. Instead, he lingered in the lounge while she went to check her guest room was presentable. On a bookshelf, he noticed a small photo frame with one of her watercolour paintings displayed, a pretty background for the Polaroid taped over the top. When he realised it was a picture of her and her boyfriend, he wished he hadn’t looked.

It should’ve stopped him from saying any more, but when Harry followed the familiar path to the guest room he hadn’t been delegated when he used to be a (relatively) regular visitor, it didn’t. It really only spurred him on.

Taylor was fluffing pillows when he appeared in the doorway, illuminated by the bedside lamps she had switched on for him. He simply watched her for a moment, before she realised he was there and she dropped the pillow like a hot coal.

“Um, it’s all set!” she said, trying to ignore her embarrassment over being startled. “There’s a new toothbrush in the bathroom for you, and clean towels, if you want a shower. And if you want any more blankets in the night, you know where they are. Did you… did you wanna borrow something to wear? I could find a shirt or something.”

“Cool,” Harry nodded, and she practically darted past him to search for one, as if being in the same room as him was suddenly too much for her.

It was, and it didn’t help when she shortly returned with an old oversized t-shirt of hers that would fit and he gave her one of those intense stares that had once made her feel special. It still kind of did.

“Taylor?” he said softly, her t-shirt in his hand, her profile partly shadowed in the low light as she stood a little too close before him. “I’d still pick you.”

As she glanced down again, he did reach out to touch her hair this time, tucking it back behind her ear with his free hand. Briefly, her eyes fluttered closed, letting herself enjoy his gentle touch again for just a moment. A moment couldn’t hurt.

“You’re a little late, Harry…” she whispered.

“Maybe one day I won’t be.”

Meeting his eyes again, she barely had a chance to process what he meant since she realised the air between them had changed. The electricity that had always sparked between them, sometimes quiet and sometimes blinding, buzzed with tension, and oh god, she knew what could happen and she should’ve stepped away right then. She should’ve run off to bed and forgotten everything he’d said to her tonight.

But she didn’t.

Even when he leaned into her, she still didn’t.

Harry was very gentle when he kissed her on impulse, thinking of nothing but how he needed to tell her he hadn’t forgotten her. They might’ve drifted apart, but he had never forgotten. He feared he ever would.

When she didn’t push him away, he deepened it, in case he really never did get the chance to kiss her again. Her lips were soft and holy shit, he couldn’t believe it when her hands rested on his shoulders and she pulled him closer to kiss him more intensely, sighing into it and all too suddenly breaking away.

There was something in her eyes that he wasn’t able to read, since hastily she was murmuring, “Good night, Harry,” and scampering off without a backwards glance, like she should’ve before.

But she hadn’t, and Harry fell asleep in the soft cotton of her t-shirt with the ghost of her lips on his and the distant memory of sleeping at her side.

 

*** * * * ***

 

Harry didn’t wake up alone – though his bed partner was rather, uhh, _hairier_ than he was accustomed to.

The door had been left half open, and for all he knew there had been cats coming and going all night, but the one who woke him up was Olivia. He’d rolled over and felt something tickling his nose, her white tail stretched across his pillow as she dozed beside him. Bleary eyed, he tried to place himself, sighing when he registered this wasn’t his apartment and he didn’t have a cat.

But Taylor did.

So he really _hadn’t_ dreamed up all of last night.

Oh god. Oh god, oh god. What had he _done?_

His mouth was terribly dry and he really needed a wee, but bed was warm and he was afraid of what he was going to find when he got up.

Coming here had seemed like a good idea when he was drunk, but the morning after? Not so much.

Eventually the need to go to the bathroom won; he reluctantly dragged himself out of bed and attempted to freshen himself up, splashing his face with water and rinsing his mouth out. In the mirror, he recognised that he looked out of place in her shirt and his undies, and he had the sense to put his pants back on, even if that did look odd as well.

It was nearly lunchtime by the time he tentatively ventured further down the hall, with Olivia scooped up in his arms (she didn’t enjoy it as much as Benjamin did, but she tolerated it for Harry).

Taylor was already up and dressed, her hair still wet from a shower he hadn’t heard her take. He found her at the kitchen table, glasses on and her chin propped up on her hand as she read a novel, a coffee cup within her reach. When she heard him come in, she glanced up from the pages, a smile twitching at the corner of her lips.

“The pants really go,” she said dryly, and some of the tension in his muscles relaxed. Thank god things weren’t awfully awkward again. Maybe it wasn’t as bad as he thought.

“I thought she might’ve been with you,” she continued, nodding at the cat in his hold. “Come sit down, I’ll make you a coffee. Need a side of aspirin?”

“Very funny.” Though when he joined her at the table, he politely added, “Yes, please.”

They were silent as Taylor made another cup. Harry got Olivia to settle on his lap, where she curled up and closed her eyes again, purring contentedly while he stroked her soft fur.

As he watched Taylor face away from him, he was reminded of mornings after from when they first met and the years that followed, all those fleeting affairs that never amounted to anything more. Whether it was because they were too afraid or they just simply weren’t meant to be, neither of them had been able to figure out. They probably never would.

When Taylor sat down again, setting his cup down in front of him, along with the box of aspirin she had left out with forethought, Harry offered a small thankful smile.

“I’m, um. I’m sorry for last night,” he quietly apologised. “I shouldn’t have come here like that.”

She shook her head a little, folding her hands upon the tabletop. “It’s okay. It’s good to see you again.”

Which was what he wanted to hear, but…

But he didn’t know what this was. He couldn’t tell whether she was just saying that to be nice, or if she really meant it. If she wanted to keep seeing him, or if she wanted him to get in a car and never come back.

Because he had kissed her, which was a stupid, reckless mistake, yes, definitely, he knew that, but she had kissed him back. He was convinced he hadn’t just imagined that part, and if he hadn’t, well, what on earth did that _mean?_

“I’m sorry for… you know…” Harry knew he had to tell her. He didn’t want to be responsible for wrecking anything good in her life, least not when he couldn’t promise he could give her anything better.

When she looked down at her hands, fiddling nervously, he worried that maybe his fear was right: that it meant nothing.

“It’s okay.”

“It’s not…”

As she drew her eyes back up to his, he almost wished she hadn’t, for then he could’ve pretended not to see the guard she had fashioned back up behind her black rimmed glasses.

“We have plenty of secrets. What’s one more?”


End file.
